


Skye Fall

by SilverMoon53



Series: Silver's Summer '18 Fic-a-thon [11]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: ???? kinda???, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Pre-HYDRA Reveal, Self Harm Scars, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, also i know its a vent fic but you dont need to worry about me, and got an actual plot kinda, graphic descriptions of self harm scars and fresh cuts, i think i started as vent then got a mind of its own, im a fanfic writer how else am i supposed to deal with emotions, im okay, its exactly as likely as you think, just be careful reading this okay?, me? projecting onto characters?, none of the actual cutting but still, takes place at a non specified time during season 1, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 09:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15660111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMoon53/pseuds/SilverMoon53
Summary: Dr Simmons may not be a medical doctor, but she’s the closest thing the team has to one.OrJemma Simmons helps Skye when things get bad.(make sure you read the tags)





	Skye Fall

**Author's Note:**

> So, despite being a vent fic, I actually had a lot of fun writing this. Pay close attention to which name I use for Jemma, because every choice of Jemma or Simmons was thought out and planned.
> 
> Also I may or may not turn this into a series of Dr Simmons Helping The Team Through Tough Times. It was originally going to be a multichapter fic posted all today but I didn't manage to finish it soon enough so we'll see if I make it a series.
> 
> One more time, be sure you read the tags.

Skye seemed startled to find Jemma in the lab so late. 

She had walked in, either unfazed by the lights being on or simply not noticing them, and made a beeline for the medical cabinet. She jumped when Jemma greeted her, soft though her hello was.

“Oh, hey,” Skye replied, her unease clear in her twitchy movements and the way she looked everywhere but at the doctor. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Not to worry,” Jemma said easily, leaning back and stretching out her arms. “I wasn’t working on anything in particular.” Skye raised an eyebrow, but Jemma just shrugged. It was the truth, unusual though it was. While she didn’t normally stay up late unless she had lost herself in a project, some instinct had compelled her to remain in the lab hours after she would normally retire for the night. She had been taking inventory, something mindless and simple to while away the time. 

“That seems awfully unlike you,” Skye said, though her playful tone seemed forced and strained. “You always seem so prim and proper, I figured you had a set bedtime and everything.” Jemma smiled at the tease and stood to face Skye properly. 

“Happens to the best of us,” she said airly, then gestured to Skye. “What about you?” she asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come down here unless something was the matter, is there anything you need help with?”

“No!” Skye cut Jemma off, voice jumping up an octave in panic. “No, no, of course not,” she added more slowly. “Just… couldn’t sleep, you know? Thought I’d wander down here…” She trailed off as though she didn’t know where she was going, eyes carefully looking anywhere but at Jemma. 

“I see,” came the reply after a pause. 

“Yeah.”

“Skye, you can tell me anything, you know. I won’t judge you.” Skye flinched again, though the words were gentle and honest. 

“I know, it’s just…” Skye let out a frustrated groan. “I don’t know.”

“Skye,” Simmons said firmly. “I’m guessing that you came here for medical assistance of some sort, or supplies at the very least, as you didn’t know I was here. Your hesitation suggests that the reason is something you deem foolish, or silly, or otherwise something you don’t wish to share. But I am the medic here, and I cannot in good faith allow you to return to your room without at least allowing me to see the reason you’re here. Now, sit.” She pointed to the examination table. It may not be as comfortable as one from a traditional doctor’s office, but it was sanitary and as the height Simmons would need Skye to be for an examination. 

Skye hesitated again but quickly withered under the doctor’s firm gaze. Making it a point to show how reluctant she was, she slowly dragged herself over to the table and pulled herself up. Simmons did not fail to notice the way Skye favored one leg - not in a way to keep weight off it, but rather in a way intended to keep the fabric of her pants from brushing against it - and how she kept her hand pressed against her thigh once seated. 

“It’s… embarrassing. And stupid. I-” she took a deep breath and let it out in a huff, seeming to need to force the words past a reluctant tongue. Simmons gave a comforting nod, and walked over to the wall to grab a pair of gloves. “I’m having a hard time adjusting to…” Skye paused again, this time to wave her hands in a vague gesture. “Everything, I guess. And I kinda… fell back on some old habits.” Her voice was small, sheepish, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, only without any of the usual defiance and pride. She heaved another sigh, and finally raised her eye’s to Simmons’s. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” Simmons replied cheerfully, snapping her gloves on. “I may not be a certified medical doctor, but I believe it still applies to me. I won’t divulge anything to anyone if you don’t want me to.”

“I want you to promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

“I, Jemma Simmons, promise you, Skye, that I will not tell anyone the reason of your visit tonight unless you explicitly grant me permission to do so. I promise you this both as your doctor, in honour of the confidentiality between doctor and patient, but also as your friend, who would hate to betray you and only wishes to see you well.”

“That was… way, _way_ over the top,” Skye smirked, already seeming more relaxed though she still held her body too still to truly be at ease. “All I needed was a simple ‘I promise,’ but I appreciate the speech.” 

“Happy to help,” Jemma chirped. “Now, what was it that brought you down here so late?”

Skye worked her mouth wordlessly for a few moments, then sighed. Eyes down again, she hopped off the table and tugged off her pants, hissing softly as the fabric brushed parts of her leg. Still not looking at Simmons, she hopped back up. 

Part of Simmons idly wondered if part of Skye’s embarrassment was due to the fact that she needed to be half naked for the medical assistance. Simmons herself had no problem with it, as she was a doctor and bodies, to her, were simply vessels for one’s self. Of course, she was well aware that this sentiment was not commonly shared, though Skye seemed quite comfortable as herself. 

The rest of Simmons was focused on the clean lines along Skye’s thigh. 

Most were white, or dull and faded pink. They varied in size, some thick and short, others thin and long, some overlapping and a few puckered angrily. They were almost all clear, precise, exact, marks made with practiced hand, over and over until most of her upper thighs were covered with them. They clustered most densely on her right leg, which, yes, made sense with Skye being right handed. They were more sporadic on the right as well, often thicker than their counterparts, more often angled and overlapping. The ones on the left were smaller, more even both in placement and design, and many were nearly parallel with each other and the ground. 

It took Simmons less than a second to asses the scars, the remainder of the second dedicated to dismissing the fading marks - old habit indeed, many looked years old and only a few had yet to start fading - and calculating the damage of the open cuts. 

Of those there were several. Not nearly as many as there could have been, or had been in the past judging by the sets of nearly parallel scars, but enough that Simmons would need to prioritize. She quickly set up a mental triage and classified each cut by priority. 

Low: Shallow, pink with max 3 droplets of red visible at time of assessment. Likely will not need any medical attention, disinfectant and a bandaid at most. Quantity: approximately 7.

Medium: Shows signs of previous bleeding, but adequately clotted. Will need cleaned, may need butterfly bandages to help reduce scarring and risk of reopening. Quantity: approximately 4.

High: Currently bleeding, even after several minutes of conversation plus time to get to the lab, and/or 10-20mm deep. Definite damage to the dermis layer of skin, probable damage to the hypodermis. Coagulant recommended at this point, due to uncertainty around how long the bleeding has been happening. Will require stitches and possible attention over several days. Quantity: 3

It took less than three seconds, total, from the moment Skye lowered her pants enough to see the first of the scars to when Simmons finished her assessment. Before Skye had even gotten settled, Simmons was grabbing her hand and pressing it over the worst of the bleeding. 

“Pressure here, now, that’s good.” Satisfied, she turned and crossed the room in a few rapid, purposeful steps. “I’m going to inject you with some coagulant, to help stem the bleeding. The needle shouldn’t hurt much, though you will feel a slight pinch.” The needle was in Skye’s arm before Simmons had finished her sentence. “I’m going to have to ask you some questions, would you be able to answer them for me?” Simmons paused to adjust the placement of Skye’s hand, then strode off again, not waiting for an answer. “Please describe the instrument that was used and the state of it.”

Skye baulked, seemingly frozen from the lack of shock on Simmons’s face and the precision of her questions. “I, uh,” she tried to say, but stumbled and choked over her words. Simmons appeared beside her again, and placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

“Breathe,” Simmons reminded Skye. “Let’s try that again.” She spoke slower this time around, partly out of respect for Skye and partly because she was preoccupied with starting to stitch the worst of the cuts. She waited for Skye’s breathing to even out before continuing. “What caused these? A knife, or broken glass, perhaps?” 

“I-uh. A knife,” Skye said hesitantly. “A camping knife, nothing fancy.”

“A clean one, I hope?” Simmons asked, moving Skye’s hands to press gauze on the first stitched cut.

“Yeah. I always wipe it off and rub some hand sanitizer on it. It’s not rusty or anything like that, if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

“Mmhmm. You really should be washing it with soap and warm water, but I suppose that is better than nothing. I’ll put some disinfectant on, just to be safe. Hold still, please,” Simmons added when Skye shifted beneath her. “Was the blade serrated or straight?”

“Straight.”

“Fairly sharp, too? It’s hard to get such clean cuts with a dull blade.”

“Yeah. I never really use it for anything else, so it hasn’t been dulled much.”

“Made of stainless steel?”

“Probably?” Skye rolled her shoulders like she needed to move something but didn’t want to disturb Simmons’s work. “I’m not sure, I didn’t pay attention when I got it. Sorry.” Her voice was soft, cowed, so very unlike the Skye that Jemma was used to. 

“Hm. I’d like to have a look at it once I’m done. Just to make sure that there’s nothing on it that might cause problems that you forgot about.” Simmons took a breath, trying to find the right words before continuing. “And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to hold on to it, at least for a while.”

Skye flinched slightly, which Simmons tactfully pretended was due to the sting of the disinfectant she was applying. 

“That’s… probably not a bad idea,” Skye admitted at length. She watched idly as Simmons finished up treating the worst of the cuts, looking like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to start.

“You’ll find my ideas rarely are,” Jemma quipped, and got a chuckle and an eye roll from Skye. “And when they are, I’m willing to admit it. Now, let’s deal with some of these smaller cuts, shall we?” 

They fell into a comfortable silence while Simmons finished cleaning, disinfecting, and bandaging Skye’s wounds. Or, comfortable to Simmons. This was something she knew, something familiar and easy for her, something she was sure about how and what and where, if not the why. She was sure that Skye did not feel the same ease, but she voiced no concerns as Simmons went through the movements, which lead Simmons to believe that the silence was comfortable enough for both of them. 

Simmons was almost done when Skye broke the silence.

“Why aren’t you freaking out?” she demanded, panicked like the frozen lake she was standing on had shattered and she was falling into the icy water. “Why aren’t you saying anything about this?” Her voice was scared, disappointment and anger battling for dominance and Simmons said nothing. She just kept working until there was nothing left to work on.

Satisfied, Simmons stepped back and set about tidying up. She grabbed the bandage wrappers and the bloodied gauze, disposed of the used stiture needle into the used sharps container, then removed her gloves and washed her hands. 

When she returned to Skye again, the other woman had put her pants back on and was crying. Wordlessly, Jemma grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug.

“What would you like me to say?” she whispered into Skye’s ear. Her own voice threatened to break, but the ground she was standing on had failed beneath her long ago and she had been falling and falling and falling for so long that she hadn’t any air left to scream, and Skye needed her to be whole so whole she was. “That you shouldn’t do that? That there are better ways to deal with this? You already know this. Do you want me to say that I’m mad at you, that you’re stupid and pathetic and weak?” Jemma felt Skye flinch in her arms at the words, felt her shudder with tears and held tighter. “You’re not and my feelings won’t change facts. I am sad, because I don’t like seeing my friends hurt, and yes, I am a little mad that you didn’t come to me before it got this bad, but I understand and hold nothing against you.”

Skye muttered something but Jemma shushed her. She lowered them to the floor as Skye’s legs threatened to fail because she was a scientist and wasn’t strong enough to physically support her friend. 

“I won’t ask you to promise anything. I know how hard it is for you to ask for help, and to trust. I know what happens to one’s faith in others after an unstable childhood. I want to ask you to promise not to do this again, to come to me, or someone, if you get like this again, but I don’t want you to feel guilty if you don’t. So all I ask of you is this: let me teach you how to properly care for wounds like these. Let me show you how to minimise damage and how to support your body’s healing.” There was nothing else for her to say, so she said nothing more.

After a while, Skye’s tears slowed and she detached herself from Jemma. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, but nothing came out so she shut it and smiled weakly at Jemma. Jemma smiled back and helped her to her feet. 

“Let’s get you back to bed, shall we?” Jemma said. Skye nodded and allowed herself to be led back to her bunk. Alone once more, Jemma carried herself back to her own bunk, where she collapsed and sobbed and cursed to herself, letting go of all that she had held in for her friend’s sake. She did not sleep that night, worry for her friend and all the ways things could go wrong tormenting her swirling thoughts. 

When she dragged herself to the lab the next morning, make-up carefully done to hide the effects of a restless night, she found a small knife with a sticky note that simply read _thank you. 10:00 tonight?_

And Jemma smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you ever need anyone to talk to (about self harm, suicide, any of that stuff or just about the show!) feel free to shoot me a message on tumblr or discord!
> 
> Writeblr blog: @silverssideblog  
> Discord: cloudcover#7167


End file.
